


A Kind of Magic

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Day 1 - Magic, Jehanparnasse Week 2017, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, theft is mentioned a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 05:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12550612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: “How’d you learn how to do that?” Jehan asked suddenly, nodding their head in the direction of Montparnasse’s hand.“What, mon amour?” Montparnasse inclined his head in mock confusion.“That!” Jehan pointed to the hand this time, sitting up. “How are you so… so... It’s like magic!”Written for Jehanparnasse Week 2017 on tumblr. Day 1 - Magic





	A Kind of Magic

When pressed to explain how he became such an excellent pickpocket, Montparnasse had a variety of answers.

“I went to Thief school,” Montparnasse once quipped to a shocked Marius, a wallet held gingerly between the thief’s fingertips. Eponine had been glaring warningly at Montparnasse from across the room.

With Bizarro, Montparnasse had to get a little more creative. As far as the Patron-Minette were concerned, their respective childhoods had been an apprenticeship in the art of crime.

“I’m an ex- undercover spy who’s currently under Witness Protection and couldn’t give up the addiction to a life of crime,” Montparnasse had explained.

“ _C'est des conneries!_ ” Bizarro had chided him. “You are always so _dramatic_.”

But they were laughing, and soon the very question had been forgotten.

He had other dismissals of course. He sold his soul to the ghost of a highwayman.  He was simply so charming, the poor fools didn’t even know they were being robbed. And perhaps the closest of all to the truth; he wasn’t a very _good_ pickpocket, he was just a very _lucky_ one.

The catch, of course, was that everyone who evidently asked after the source of his thieving skills didn’t matter. They certainly had no business in his past, and they most likely had little business in his present.

Until now. Until _they_ asked.

“How’d you learn how to do that?” Jehan asked suddenly, nodding their head in the direction of Montparnasse’s hand.

They were idly passing their hours in Jehan’s bedroom, like cats in the flickering sunshine filtering in through the sheer curtains. Jehan was curled up at the head of the bed around a book of Byron. Montparnasse was stretched out languidly watching them read, passively flipping an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

And no sooner had Jehan spoke, than Montparnasse deftly flicked the cigarette into the sleeve of his shirt as though it had never been in his hand at all.

“What, _mon amour?_ ” Montparnasse inclined his head in mock confusion.

“That!” Jehan pointed to the hand this time, sitting up. “How are you so… so... It’s like magic!”

Reaching across, Montparnasse slipped a daisy bloom he had plucked earlier from a vase into his hand, and while tucking a lock of wild, red hair behind the poet’s ear, pretended to have miraculously sprung the daisy from nothing.

“You mean this?” Montparnasse smirked.

Jehan smiled at the delight, and tucked the daisy into the crook of their ear.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Montparnasse sat up properly and leaned forward to hook a finger under Jehan’s chin, turning the poet’s face up to his. They were positively radiant.

“ _Mon chou_ ,” Montparnasse addressed them with reverence, his thumb sweeping along Jehan’s fragile cheekbone. “You know there are some truths I will never be able to share with you. Besides, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Jehan countered, looking fierce. They pulled Montparnasse’s hand down and held it between their own.

Montparnasse sighed. He could trust Jehan with this, he thought absently, and that was terrifying. He trusted very little in people, and had already invested considerably more in Jehan than he had in even those he considered his closest friends. It was starting to become a problem.

If you call just over five feet of charming elegance a problem.

“You’ve always been terribly intuitive,” Montparnasse began, plucking the unlit cigarette back into existence. Jehan gasped softly at the surprise. “You said this is like magic… that’s because it is.”

Jehan features set into a glare, and they put their hands on their thin hips.

“Mont-par-nasse,” Jehan mock chided. “I may believe in a great many inconceivable things, but I do not believe you for a minute.”

“I said you wouldn’t.”

Montparnasse slipped the cigarette between his lips and stretched back out on the bed.

Sure, he had answered the question. Honestly too. Though perhaps not… properly. But the deflated sinking of Jehan’s shoulders had the words spilling from Montparnasse’s mouth before he had even reasoned he was ready to admit them.

“I was trained as a street magician,” Montparnasse muttered around their cigarette.

Jehan’s eyes widened dramatically.

“Seriously?”

Montparnasse nodded.

“I’ve told no one that,” he said. “That doesn’t leave this room.”

“I thought you stole all your life?” Jehan punctuated this statement by marking an X shape over their heart with their finger before bringing it to their lips.

Montparnasse groaned.

“That’s still technically true,” he admitted. “But I got a lot better at it once a well-meaning street magician decided to teach a wide eyed street urchin his craft. A mistake on his part, largely…”

“Alright then _Magique-parnasse_ ,” Jehan teased. “Show me a magic trick.”

Montparnasse eyed his coat, folded carefully over the back of Jehan’s desk chair. There was a deck of cards in a secret pocket in the lining. He had been meaning to show Jehan this trick for a while actually. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

Rolling off the bed to retrieve the cards, already pre-arranged for this particular trick, he returned and sat cross-legged across from Jehan.

“Pick a card,” he said, fanning the deck out to the poet.

“Oh I’ve seen this one before!” Jehan replied, delighted, as they selected a card.

Montparnasse assured him they hadn’t.

It was the ace of hearts, Montparnasse knew. He gave Jehan a minute to study it. The poet’s stuck out their tongue in concentration before nodding to confirm they had memorized its likeness.

He allowed Jehan to place the card back at the top of the deck, and began the series of elaborate shuffles that were entirely for show. He already knew Jehan’s card. In fact, there was a very Jehan specific card already in the deck.

Fanning the cards out right side up so Jehan could see that it wasn’t entirely a deck of just the ace of hearts, Montparnasse ran his fingers along them until he found the card he was looking for.

“This is your card,” Montparnasse stated, holding up a very specific ace of hearts.

Scrawled over it in Montparnasse’s smudgey handwriting was the phrase, “ _Je te déteste le moins.”_

I hate you the least.

Jehan scanned the card and smiled brightly. “From you, that’s basically ‘ _Je t’aime._ ’”

“ _Oui_ ,” Montparnasse admitted, smiling widely in return.

He laughed. _Laughed_. It was mortifying.

Jehan’s smile settled into something saccharinely sweet and devoted, and they ran a gentle finger along Montparnasse’s jaw. Then they brought his face towards them to kiss him chastely.

“ _Je t’aime aussi_ ,” Jehan whispered into the space between their lips.

Yes magic, Montparnasse thought. This was magic.

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous but it's the first thing I thought of for this prompt.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at fishandchipsandvinegar! Come talk to me about Jehanparnasse week.


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